


absence helps the heart move on

by thesaddestboner



Series: bang ’em up bruiser queen [10]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Colorado Avalanche, Concussions, Detroit Red Wings, Gen, Implied Relationships, Past Relationship(s), Rule 63, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 20:09:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2885990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesaddestboner/pseuds/thesaddestboner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Nik wonders what he’d even see in her heart if he bothered to look. Would he still recognize it? Or had it changed too much in the years since he’d been gone?</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	absence helps the heart move on

**Author's Note:**

  * For [annabeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth/gifts).



> Last season, Niklas Kronwall got injured in the game against Colorado on October 17th. The Wings hosted the San José Sharks on October 21st and Kronwall had to miss the game. 
> 
> Kronwall actually texted Stuart to let him know he was okay, IIRC. Stuart talked about it briefly [here](http://nullrefer.com/?http://www.freep.com/article/20131021/SPORTS05/310210079/detroit-red-wings-darren-helm-xavier-ouellet).
> 
> Set in my [always-a-girl ’verse](http://archiveofourown.org/series/38814). I didn’t plan on writing this scenario in the girl!Wings ’verse, but I was trying to write a Christmas fic for [](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth/profile)[**annabeth**](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth/) and this is what happened.
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thesaddestboner) and [tumblr](http://saddestboner.tumblr.com).

The whole thing is really a stroke of unfortunate luck.

Nik cuts back against the grain, reaching back for the puck with her stick, and McLeod can’t slow down his momentum. He hits her like a sack of bricks, square between her shoulder blades, and then the boards are flying at her face. 

Nik hits the dasher headfirst with a solid _crunch_ —she hears cursing, along with a ringing in her ears and then the lusty roar of the crowd—and then she sprawls out on the ice.

Nik is only vaguely aware of the chaos around her, the screeching of the referee’s whistle, more cursing, bodies flying around her. She hears skate blades scoring deep in the ice by her head.

Someone touches her and gently removes her helmet, tossing it aside. Bright lights shine in her eyes, and then a blurry face hovers over hers. She thinks it’s probably Piet, but her thoughts are a knot of threads that won’t untangle themselves.

Her head feels heavy, achey, and she’s so very _aware_ of everything that’s going on around her. It still feels very far away though, hazy, like someone’s thrown gauzy curtains over her head and she’s having a hell of a time trying to look through them.

“Nik, don’t move. We’re gonna send you to the hospital for tests,” Piet says, through the ringing in her ears. “For precautionary measures.”

Nik thinks she nods in agreement, but she’s not quite sure. Then strange hands are all over her, moving her, lifting her onto a backboard and lashing her down with straps and belts. Someone places her head in a foam-padded immobilizer. The roaring of the crowd starts to die down, replaced with a sickeningly quiet murmur.

The paramedics wheel her off to scattered, faint applause.

Nik allows herself to close her eyes for just a moment. Her parents will be worried, once news of her injury gets back to them. She’ll have to text them to let them know she’s okay.

There’s someone else she’ll have to text, too.

Eventually.

-

Nik’s examined and discharged by noon the next day, with a relatively clean bill of health. She’s got a minor concussion, but a minor concussion is nothing. Well, almost nothing. Babs and Piet both insist that she take it easy, and recuperate for the next few days before her check-up with the team doctor.

Which means she’ll miss the game against San José.

Nik intends to text Stuie and let him know she won’t be playing, that they won’t be able to meet up like they had when their teams met up last season, but she still hasn’t gotten hold of her phone, which she’d left behind in the visitor’s lockerroom in Colorado. Zäta was going to bring it over when she had a moment, but she hasn’t come by yet.

Nik can only begin to imagine all the messages she’s missed from family, friends, and former teammates. All her things had been gathered up by lockerroom attendants, packed up, and shipped back to Detroit, along with her teammates’ stuff.

Nik’s resting in bed the morning after the accident, flipping through TV stations idly. Her teammates are probably in the middle of their morning skate, preparing for that night’s game, and Nik itches to be there with them. It’s only been one whole day away from the team and she already feels like her skin is going to crawl off.

She’s a hockey player. She doesn’t do _invalid_ very well at all.

Nik sighs, struggles to focus on the Today Show, but the noise starts hurting her head a little bit and she ends up turning the TV off.

Silence falls heavily around her, then. All Nik can hear now is the occasional rumble of a car down the street and the distant, happy shouts of the neighborhood children.

Nik closes her eyes and tries to will herself back to sleep, but the faint throbbing in her temples won’t leave her in peace.

Then the throbbing in her temples gives way to a heavy, repetitive pounding; for a moment, Nik is confused before she realizes the pounding isn’t actually occurring in her head. Someone is banging on her door. She frowns, wondering who it could possibly be. She hadn’t been expecting any visitors.

Nik sighs and crawls out of bed, planting her feet in the plush carpet. She locates her robe, thrown over a bedside armchair, and pulls it on, cinching the sash around her waist. After scurrying into the bathroom to hurriedly run a comb through her short, dark blond hair, she heads downstairs to greet her unexpected guest.

Nik grasps the doorknob, yanks the door open, and finds herself face-to-face with Stuie.

“Nik, why didn’t you call me?” Stuie says, by way of a greeting.

“Stuie, what are you doing here,” Nik asks, tightening her robe around her body.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Stuie says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his blue jeans. “Zäta texted me and told me what happened. I tried to call and text you but it just went straight to voicemail.”

Nik sighs and steps aside, waving him in. Once he’s safely inside, she shuts the door behind him and heads for the kitchen. She looks back over her shoulder. “Do you want something to drink?”

“I can’t really stay long,” he admits, lingering in the doorway.

“You really didn’t need to come all this way just to see that I’m okay,” Nik says, sighing again and sweeping her hand through her hair. She tugs self-consciously at the sash of her robe. “I’ve got a mild concussion, but I’ll be fine. I’m getting a check-up in a couple days. It wasn’t serious at all.”

“Any blow to the head is serious,” Stuie says, frowning a little. “And I guess you’re right, I didn’t need to come out here. I just wanted to see for myself.”

Nik forces a smile onto her face. “So… How’s Melissa? The kids?” she asks.

“They’re good,” he says, warily. 

Nik crosses her arms over her chest. “Does she know you’re here, visiting me?”

“She’s not dumb, Nik,” Stuie says, sighing and rubbing his hands over his face. Nik takes note of the thin white band of skin on his finger where his wedding ring used to sit. “She knows I always come to see you when the team’s in town.”

“She does’t mind?”

“I think she’s… made peace with it,” Stuie says, careful and measured as usual. For someone that’s as physical as Stuie is on the ice, Nik thinks, he sure tries his damnedest to avoid conflict off of it. “Melissa knows we don’t sleep together anymore.”

“If it were me, I’d still be jealous as hell,” Nik says, turning from him and heading into the kitchen. She opens a cupboard and pulls down a couple glasses. After retrieving a bottle of whiskey, Nik pours herself a finger of whiskey, squinches her eyes shut, and tosses it back.

“You sure that’s such a good idea?” Stuie’s suddenly standing so close to her, heat radiating from him, warming her chilly skin just a little bit. He plucks the bottle of whiskey out of her hand. “What about your head?”

“I’ll be fine. They gave me something for the headache at the hospital, but I haven’t needed to take anything since,” Nik says, turning the empty glass in her hand. She looks anywhere but Stuie, refusing to acknowledge how close he is to her, and how much he still affects her.

They’d given up their sexual relationship when he went back to San José to be with Melissa and their kids. It’s been over two years since Stuie’s last seen her naked, since he’s touched her in any way other than platonic, and being so close to him shouldn’t affect her like this.

 _Shouldn’t_ being the operative word here, of course. 

Nik takes the empty glass from his hand, inches away from him, and dumps both the glasses in the sink. 

“Nik.” Stuie’s voice is soft, solicitous, and familiar—too familiar. He reaches out and touches her shoulder gently; his fingertips barely graze the silken material of her robe, but Nik is certain she can feel his touch on her skin like a brand.

This is wrong.

Nik slides out from under his hand. “So, you probably have to get downtown for practice or something, huh?” 

“Trying to get rid of me?” Stuie asks, the corners of his lips twitching up wryly in a tiny smile.

“Yeah, a little bit,” she admits, tucking her hands in the pockets of her robe. 

She feels strangely exposed, like Stuie can see past the layers of her robe and flannel nightshirt, through her skin, straight into her heart. Nik wonders what he’d even see in her heart if he bothered to look. Would he still recognize it? Or had it changed too much in the years since he’d been gone?

“Well, I’m glad you’re okay,” he says, glancing down, scuffing his heel on the kitchen tiles. 

“Thanks for stopping by. I appreciate it,” Nik says, reaching out, tentatively, to squeeze his hand. 

Stuie squeezes back and, a couple beats later, slips his hand away. Nik watches him leave, shutting the front door behind him gently.

The warmth and weight of his fingers linger for a moment longer before fading.

**Author's Note:**

> The author of this piece intends no insult, slander, or copyright infringement, and is not profiting from this work. This story is a complete work of fiction and does not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. This is for entertainment purposes only. If you found this story while Googling your name or the names of your friends, hit the back button now.


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